


Over We Know Not

by jamesdotjpeg



Series: Alveezy One Shots [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alveezy, Angst, Crying, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7801450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesdotjpeg/pseuds/jamesdotjpeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought I was going to spend forever with you, Greg.” Alvie says quietly, not looking at him. He feels wretched when Alvie’s shoulders shake slightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over We Know Not

A mug hits the wall next to Greg’s head the moment he enters the living room, ceramic shattering into a thousand pieces against the plaster and scattering everywhere. It makes him jerk back and look for who had thrown it, arms raised slightly in preparation for another attack that doesn’t come, not yet. What he finds is Alvie, arm still half extended from the throw, a wild look in his eyes that doesn’t bode well for him. He drops his arms and draws his eyebrows together, starts to say something but is cut off by Alvie screaming at him.

“Don’t say  _ anything,  _ don’t fucking open your mouth, I can’t  _ believe  _ you!” 

So Greg doesn’t say anything as Alvie’s chest rises and falls with half full breaths. He’s breathing too quickly, is going to give himself a panic attack, but he remains silent while he watches Alvie clench and unclench his fists, fight back tears and continue with his irregular breathing. It’s difficult. He hadn’t expected it to be this difficult. But he had known it was coming.

“You thought you could just- could just break up with me without actually  _ saying  _ anything? Did you think I was just going to leave, how the hell did you figure that? Was I not worth the effort it would have taken to just talk to me?”

Greg clenches his jaw and looks up at the ceiling with a sigh, wants to argue that no, Alvie was worth the world and more. But therein lies the problem. “Juan…”

“Don’t  _ Juan  _ me, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Alvie’s voice cracks and Greg doesn’t think he can handle it if he starts actually crying. “I thought you cared about me, about us, and you have  _ Wilson  _ come and try to tell me, you send your ex boyfriend to come break up with me for you and don’t think there’s anything wrong with that?” 

To be fair, he had known that sending Wilson to do this while he was out of town was a terrible idea. But James was better at this than he was and he hadn’t wanted this to happen, the dramatic confrontation and the way seeing Alvie like this makes him want to back out of his decision. He’d been afraid of wanting to back out of it and with good reason, because it was becoming increasingly difficult to not apologize, to ask him to stay, to tell him that this wasn’t really what he wanted. He swallows and looks away from Alvie, continues his trek to the kitchen and hears Alvie’s heavy footfalls behind him.

“You’re not going to say anything about this?” 

“I was told not to open my mouth, so I’m not.” Greg moves to the fridge, starts to open it but the door is kicked shut again and he finds himself being shoved back against the fridge. It’s so unfamiliar and surprising that it’s a little scary, how Alvie pushes him with a power his compact frame normally hides, how Alvie looks at him with those big brown eyes that makes him feel like shit in a violent way that not many people are able, how Alvie is trying so hard to remain composed where any other time he’d be completely off the chain, even on his meds as he’s been for years now. 

“Don’t fucking give me that, what the hell is  _ wrong  _ with you?” Alvie shoves him back again with a hand to his chest. “I thought we were doing fine, good even, I thought- I thought-!” 

Whatever Alvie thinks makes the fight drain out of him, shrinking back into himself and stepping away and Greg wishes he was yelling at him again, wishes he would punch him or kick him or anything other than back away slightly and lean weakly against the counter with that  _ look.  _ Devastation, remorse, anguish. Heartbreak. He hates the way his chest contricts painfully when the first tears roll down Alvie’s cheeks and beats down the urge to cross the kitchen and hug him. So he stands there, silent, and watches Alvie fight for air quietly and wipe at his face with the sleeve of the too big sweater he’s wearing. It’s Greg’s, though Alvie had claimed it as his less than a month into their relationship. Said the knitted wool was a good grounding texture and he liked the way the cologne Greg wore lingered on it. Greg had told him the color looked nice on him. 

“I thought I was going to spend forever with you, Greg.” Alvie says quietly, not looking at him. He feels wretched when Alvie’s shoulders shake slightly. 

The room is quiet aside from Alvie’s uneven breathing and the creak of the floorboards as Greg shifts from foot to foot, rubbing at his leg as more of an outward anxious gesture than any real alleviation of pain. Long moments pass where both of them thought of something to say to that, and Greg is the one who breaks the pause. 

“I did too.” 

Alvie actually lets out a little sob at that and Greg wishes he could beat his skull against the wall. 

“Then why are you doing this?” Alvie’s voice wavers as he tries to gather himself again but it’s obvious he can’t now that he’s so worked up. He’s not actively sobbing but he’s not containing himself either.

“I don’t anymore.” Greg says simply, and it’s such a lie. He thinks about the past six years, the soft moments in the mornings before either of them got up to start the day, sunlight filtering into their room warmly and making the way Alvie kissed him reverently that much sweeter. The late nights when he dragged Alvie to bed before he passed out on the couch, the lunches at the hospital, the dinner dates and one am movies and playing his guitar for Alvie to practice raps to, laughing with him at something idiotic until his sides hurt. Every adventure and weekend spent laying around, every argument and quiet apology, every day spent together and apart. The gentle kisses and warm hugs and and every stupidly perfect moment that made his heart ache with how badly he  _ wanted.  _

Alvie sneaking around but in a way that made it obvious he was trying to surprise him and the poorly hidden little box he’d found buried away because he noticed something slightly  _ off  _ about the closet, the small silver band inside said box. 

He’d panicked.

“You just. You don’t, anymore? What does that mean? What did I do, please talk to me, please, Greg, I can be so good for you.” Alvie hugs his sides and Greg doesn’t move a muscle because of  _ course  _ Alvie would take this as a fault on his part, would blame himself, would let go of anger at him in favor of rarely indulged self loathing. 

“You didn’t do anything, Alvie.” Greg says softly, looks away before he was to watch Alvie work himself back to the edge of panic. 

“Then why are you making me leave, I don’t understand why-!” 

“I don’t love you anymore!” Greg shouts, and his heart contracts painfully at the words. They’re wrong and as bold a lie as any he’s ever told, and after they’ve left his mouth Alvie’s head ducks down and his fingers tighten in the fabric of his sweater where he’s still hugging his sides.

He thinks about Alvie sitting in the house alone all weekend thinking about this.

“I don’t love you anymore. I want you gone, I’ll leave so you can pack your shit without me in the way, leave your key on the counter and try not to break any more of my mugs before you go.” Greg says deadpan, turning to leave the kitchen as Alvie starts actually, really, crying, and Greg needs to get out of here and fast. 

He leaves again immediately after that. He can hear Alvie slide to sit on the kitchen floor and cry and he knows without looking what position he’s sitting in because he’s seen Alvie do the exact same thing once before, break down like this. If he were to look, he’d see Alvie leaned up against the cabinets with his knees folded up, forehead resting gently on the left knee, hands gripping the fabric of his jeans tightly. 

But he doesn’t look, just grabs his coat because he’s planning on being out for a good long while. He leaves Alvie alone in their house, in  _ his  _ house, and doesn’t look back even when he hears another mug smash as he’s stepping onto the street. 

 

_______________________

 

When he returns later, the house is unbearably empty. 

**Author's Note:**

> Send requests to my tumblr @jamesdotjpeg


End file.
